


Blood of The Convenant

by laurctte



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (lots of allusions to christianity so uh), Extreme Religion, F/F, F/M, Hanging, Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Murder, Torture, conversion therapy, will update tags as they go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2018-12-15 10:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11803821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurctte/pseuds/laurctte
Summary: Something was wrong.Something was very, very wrong.Something was wrong in the way his father was pacing back and forth, just before mass, far too anxious for the confident demeanour he always carried, even within the house.Nothing would ever get in the way of the church, Henry had said, not even his son’s illness, not even his wife’s death, and John had known he meant it. Nothing should make his father upset during church. Nothing.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> All the warnings are all encompassing for the fic I think?? anyways nothing major here just mentions of murder

Something was wrong.

 

Something was very, very wrong.

 

Something was wrong in the way his father was pacing back and forth, just before mass, far too anxious for the confident demeanour he always carried, even within the house.

John could see something eating at his father. Henry Laurens loved his job as pastor, and he loved giving the congregation a show. Now, though, he was merely reading verses from the Holy Book, none of the usual interpretations he gave, none of the usual extravagant speech. It was strange to see him so… subdued, so quiet. It made John’s stomach churn, knowing that something had managed to upset his father in such a way that it interfered with his sermons.

 

 _Nothing would ever get in the way of the church,_ Henry had said, not even his son’s illness, not even his wife’s death, and John had known he meant it. Nothing should make his father upset during church. Nothing. He felt his chest contract when he heard his father ask that the congregation stay after mass, and it seemed that the congregation was in the same restless mood.

 

Mere minutes after the request, dozens of different rumors had already begun to spread. There was no silencing his community members, but it made him worry at his tie and fidget in his seat when he felt people’s suspicious eyes on him. Those nearby questioned him on if he knew anything about the announcement, if Henry was planning on retiring, on giving him the church. Though it took some labor, and help from Martha, he managed to reassure them that no, he had no plans on becoming a pastor, he wanted to keep his job as the town’s record keeper. If his father was planning on retiring, it was news to him.

 

He craned his neck to his siblings, all of which seemed to be in similar predicaments. Of course, his little sister was mostly untouched by the surrounding mess of gossip, just feeding into the rumors. In fact, Mary seemed to be enjoying herself, not that John was particularly surprised by it. Obvious in how she would turn around to the middle aged women behind her, gesturing wildly with her hands and running her mouth. The women covered their mouths, and their eyes widened. Mary smiled smugly and continued to sew together her half true story. Mary loved to see chaos unfold around her, especially loved feeding into it.

 

John’s stomach contracted again as Henry’s voice came to a halt, “Dear community members, this happens very rarely, but I ask you to take your children out of the church- the nuns are coming now, and they will take your children outside until our _business_ is adjourned.”

  
The sound of small feet pattering echoed throughout the cathedral as the younger patrons were corralled out by the nuns. John caught a flash of his younger sister huffing as she was gently herded through the pews along with her peers.

 

As the heavy wooden doors finally slammed shut, Henry’s voice boomed again, straightening his back, “I’m sure you must be very concerned as to why you’re here. We need not be afraid, I assure you.” The crowd calms momentarily, always trusting in their pastor. “We do have pressing business to deal with, though, and I believe in your ability to gage this situation.” He continues, and he turns to the guard, “I need you to go retrieve the newcomers.” He instructs, watching the guard go down the dark hall that leads beneath the church.

 

It’s deathly quiet- there haven’t been newcomers in years. The only living newcomer that John even remembers is Aaron, who was indoctrinated only because he was a child. His parents, however, had not been so lucky. He shudders in memory of how carelessly the congregation had orphaned him.

 

After a few minutes of silence, the guards return with a lineup of three men, sacks loosely pulled over their heads and hands tied with thick rope. The tallest worms against his bonds, trying to suddenly stop walking in an attempt to throw off his captor but is only shoved forward by the guard. The smallest of the three has dried blood caked on his hands, likely from struggling too harshly against the hard ropes. The man in the middle of the lineup is mostly calm, not bothering with squirming away from his guard’s tight grip, he knows he can’t escape. He's... resigned to it. They’re led onstage and lined up in front of the gallows, rope swaying ominously over their heads. A lump forms in John’s throat as the guards loosen the noose.

 

Henry pipes up, “We found these three driving through our town in the dead of night, and as you know, it is my belief, that anybody who travels so late at night cannot harbor good intentions.” The congregation begins to rise, screeching for death before Henry commands them to sit back through just lifting his hand. “However, these newcomers are still young, and we may have hope to convert them.” John honestly doesn’t know who’s side his father is on. It’s hard to tell. It’s always hard to tell. “It is up to you to decide whether we should reform these young men and teach them how to lead holy lives, or whether we should cast them aside as a hopeless case.”

 

The smaller man starts resisting again, shouting something muffled by the gag that’s undoubtedly been stuffed in his mouth. The man in the center shifts his leg to find his companion’s, and swiftly kicks him in the shin to warn him to be _quiet_. The other man makes a pained noise, pushing his weight onto his other leg and heeds his warning, if only to avoid another kick.

 

The congregation is whispering amongst themselves again, some of the older patrons calling for death, while others suggest sparing them- they’d make good companions for Philip Schuyler’s girls, after all his eldest just turned of age. John is the first to call out, “We should spare them! They’re still young, just like you said. We could convert them easily- it’s older minds that are a lost cause.” He argues, and his father nods, “One vote to spare them. Does anybody else care to share their opinion?” A few others begin to call out their support- it’s always easy to garner support from the congregation, so long as you’re the loudest in the crowd.

 

Some begin to snap that they came at night, they came in a car- they’re already far gone, corrupted by technology. Others argue that to kill unknowing sinners is a sin in it’s own right. It’s easily twenty minutes of the screaming match between the patrons, each side garnering more support, the arguments becoming more indiscernible as the crowd fights to have their side win. The shrieks suddenly die down as Washington steps behind the stand, clearing his throat and patiently waiting. John prays that the captain will see sense. He dislikes public executions, but he can't say much for Washington. The man always wears a stony expression during executions. “To kill ignorants is wrong, and it’s a waste to just murder young and pliant minds. The Savior could have sent these young men, and if we just hang them with no regard for their reason for being here, we could risk ending in ill favor. If they don’t follow our ways and throw away our mercy, the gallows are always here. We needn't jump to violence.” He says calmly. The crowd dissolves back into sibilating amongst themselves, many voices who had called for death just minutes ago quickly switching sides.

  
Henry takes his place again, “Thank you for your wise words, Captain.” He says, and turns back to the crowd, “Final answer?”

 

The crowd hisses between one another again, as if to confirm their answers, and they give the approval to spare the men's lives. He breathes a sigh of relief- nobody will be hung. John can’t say he feels overwhelmingly relieved to have the lives of these strangers spared, just glad to not have to record three executions along with the information about these newcomers.

 

The guards pull the fabric from the three men’s faces. They blink blearily at the sudden shift from dark to light, and just as John predicted, the smallest one has a gag snugly tied around his face. The gag is removed, but not without a warning threat of solitary punishment if he tries to bite anyone. They’re slowly unbound, and the smaller man massages at his raw wrists, scowling at the guard, who just shrugs. “You did that to yourself by struggling so much.” He says before getting back in line with his fellow guards.

 

“You may introduce yourselves.” Says Henry, though it sounds more like an instruction than a suggestion.

 

They’re mostly silent, except for the shorter man, though that’s not really unexpected. “Alexander Hamilton.” He grumbles, still rubbing at his sore wrists. The one on the far end quickly follows, “Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier.” He says proudly, and at the glare from the only man still unnamed, he quickly shifts to “You may call me Gilbert.”

 

John’s eyebrows dart up, that’s a tongue twister for him to record if there ever was one. He makes eye contact with Martha, who just tries to stifle her grin of amusement. “I’m sure you’ll have fun remembering all that.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll bake me something special to make it up to me, though.” He says, blinking up at her innocently.  
  
“No, I won’t. You can come to the bakery and buy yourself something.” She sympathetically pats John’s shoulder.

 

John huffs, and turns back to the trio, and the third man calmly says, “Hercules Mulligan.” The congregation claps for them, mostly out of obligation. A sign of their begrudging acceptance of the new members.

 

Henry nods his approval, “My son will show you to where you will be staying for the night, and then he’ll show you the town. Isn’t that right, John?” All heads turn to him, and the newly named Alexander narrows his eyes at him, as though he’s the reason he’s here.

 

John nods firmly, “Of course I will.”

 

“Good. Congregation dismissed.”

 

The crowd slinks out, and the newcomers wait for John to get up and go over to the stage, leading them down.

 

His father is testing him. Making sure the illness is really gone. He knows that, from the way his father watches his interactions with them, and so he doesn’t even touch the newcomers, just tells them to come along. They reluctantly follow his orders, hopping off the stage.

 

He quickly turns, putting an arm around his wife’s waist, and waves for them to follow. He’s forcing himself to look away, refusing to fail his father again.

 

He can do this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander, Lafayette, and Hercules are finally let out of their cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my ever favorite @washingtononyourside for beta'ing my fic after making you wait ten months (Lol im so fukin sorry ily)

Alex swears, if he has to spend another minute in this- whatever the fuck it is, he’ll lose his goddamn mind. 

That John kid playing like they’re free, then sending them back down to the fucking cellar, all while dragging his wife along. And just as the little shit was going, they took all their personal items, save the clothes on their damned backs and burned them.

Can’t let their prisoners forget that they’re prisoners. 

He looks around the cell. It’s better than their old one; not as far underground, at least. They didn’t have to go down as many flights of stairs as they did when they were first captured.

At least it’s not as bad as it was the first time. 

The cell isn’t dirty, it’s actually well maintained- which makes Alex wonder what happens in here that requires it to be well maintained. That’s for him to think of later, when he can actually move around. 

He waits. And waits. And waits. He’s been pacing for at least ten minutes, left without the company of Herc and Laf- for the time being, he hopes. 

He hears something on the other end of the door- whispering? Yeah, that’s it. He can distinguish the voices fairly easily. Though he’s only heard the guy speak once, that John kid has a pretty noticeable accent. Not like everybody else, who has that sweet southern accent that just makes Alex want to strangle them. He rolls his r’s too much and doesn’t quite nick over them. Sometimes, he pronounces them like l’s. And that’s how Alex knows.

That’s not the only noticeable thing about him, of course.There are plenty of other things about him that set off every mental alarm Alex has. The near robotic movement and speech, and there’s something about him just sets him off. He seems just a little… unhinged. 

Alex sees an opening in that. It’s hard not to, the kid is practically asking for a coup d’etat. He’s all kinds of Catholic trauma just wrapped up into a neat little bundle and more. He’s a ticking time bomb, just like everybody else in this creepy ass town.

But he’s getting him and everybody else out of this fucking cell, so Alex has to give credit where credit is due. 

They shower. It’s in separate showers, sure, but the guards are able to watch. It’s creepy, and with the cold water spraying on his scalp and down his back? He’s on edge., but it’s safe to say that none of them take very long to wrap up their shower. 

“Where are the clothes?” Laf says. His legs are crossed, even with his hands covering his crotch. The guards hit him on the nape of his neck with one of their nightsticks, and Herc screams.

“Don’t act like a sissy. If you’re part of our town, you’re to be useful. We don’t take to your kind- we know how you act.” He hisses, kneeling over Laf’s naked body. 

Laf shakes. He puts his hands on the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.” He says quietly. 

Herc and Alex exchange a look. They can’t take these guards. Unarmed, naked, and with their friend having his neck breathed down upon by a guard who just struck him for no reason? They stay silent, and the guard seems to accept that apology. 

He straightens his legs and stands straight again. “Your clothes will be arriving shortly. Don’t be too excited.” He says, nudging Gil with the toe of his boot.

 

In comes the John kid, he’s tiny. That’s one thing Alex didn’t notice from the distance. 

“Here.” He says, and pushes forward a pile of fresh clothes. They’re folded neatly, butAlex doubts the kid folded them himself. He saw him walking around with his wife, and knows that she does the work, even when heavily pregnant. 

“Thank you.” Herc says. The words don’t even come out clipped, like it’s a genuine sentiment.

Alexander can’t get the words out, but Laf is lightly kicked again. He stands, taking the clothes and rubbing at the back of his neck. Laf still murmurs his thanks, even as his skin darkens under his palm and his ribs ache from the light kick to them. It’s nothing new, they all know that. There’s just a different reason for it.

They’re provided fresh underwear, and Alex sighs. After spending exactly three days in a dirty cell with no shower afforded them and no new clothes, new underwear is a blessing. He doesn’t lean in, but he can smell the fabric softener on it. It’s the same brand that Hercules uses back home.

Alex’s hands most certainly don’t shake as he pulls the underwear on. It’s purposeful humiliation. To remind them where they belong, to remind them of their new place. That they are puppets to their whims. 

He knows what they’re trying to do, but it doesn’t matter since they’re quickly dressed and escorted out of the chamber. There’s no rails, andAlex knows that Herc must be scared shitless since they don’t even ride roller coasters.

When they make it to the top, Herc practically jumps to the solid ground, shaking as they realize how abysmal the church basement is. As they exit the church, the guards actually pull away, since they don’t expect the three of them to jump him However, it becomes clear why as they survey the area.

Guards. Everywhere. 

It’s some paramilitary shit, Alex thinks. They’re lining the town, guns in tow. It’s not even worth mentioning that the town is populated as shit. Tiny children running around on gardens, where in any other suburb there would be lawns. Mothers working in and out of the house, some cooking and cleaning, others working the tiny banks, others working at the restaurants and the one library. He can’t believe this culty horseshit is flying.

“So, this is everything?” Alexander asks.

The kid turns around. “More or less. There are a few other houses and stuff on the outskirts of town, but it doesn’t span much more than a couple of miles.” He explains. “John, by the way.” He says, putting out his hand.

Alexander is about to snap at him, before Herc thankfully steps in. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Hercules, that’s Alexander and Gilbert. Say hi.” He says, mostly aimed at Alexander.

Gil waves, and is the second to take John’s hand.

Alex just shrugs and motions to the town. “What more is there?” He says disinterestedly

John just tilts his head, “You’re aware that there are things inside the buildings, correct?” 

He resists the urge to snip that yes he does, and just nods. “Lead the way.”

And John does. Drags them around the town, explaining this and that about each building and retelling a rather short history about them.It takes less than two hours to canvas the whole thing. It’s mostly houses, with occasional other facilities. It’s when they arrive at the resident bakery that things begin to get interesting.

John hugs his wife, but he looks uncomfortable when he touches her. It’s like he would rather not touch her.

“Marty, these are the new recruits.” He says and takes her by the hand. pulling her around the counter while smiling blandly. She’s a little taller than him, and her afro only adds to the height.

Alex smiles, shakes her hand, and tells her all the sweet things to make her feel good. 

 

He was hard pressed to find out how to use John to their advantage. He knows exactly how to set off the kid.


End file.
